The text opens with a discussion of "rana," which can be translated as a cry or supplication. But it's not just any cry; it's a cry of righteousness. The Midrash draws a parallel to other verses, like the one in Kings I (8:28) about hearing the cry, and Deuteronomy (33:7) where God is asked to hear the voice of Judah. Why, it asks, do the righteous diminish themselves, yearning for the Divine Presence?
Then comes a jarring verse from Psalms (37:9): "Happy is he who seizes your infants and dashes them against the rock." Whoa. That's… intense. The Midrash interprets this as God saying, in essence, "I will dash your little ones against the rock, just as you dashed mine." It's a painful analogy, linking the destruction of the Temple to the destruction of innocence. But the text clarifies that the children weren't dashed, they were taken into captivity. God isn't speaking literally; it's about the Temple, which God built so that Israel could uphold the Torah, received as children. As Psalm 8:3 states, "Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings have you established strength." It's a powerful and disturbing image, highlighting the reciprocal nature of actions and consequences.
The text then moves into a discussion of divine retribution, quoting Psalms about giving to the wicked according to their deeds. It even mentions hell enlarging itself, drawing on Isaiah (5:14), and emphasizes that God's vengeance will be met with music and celebration. But there's a crucial caveat: even for those who seem undeserving, we should try to find merit, for this has implications for the World to Come. Even in this world, as Job (33:23) reminds us, an angel might intercede.
Next, we encounter the story of King David and the Gibeonites. "Now the Gibeonites were not of the people of Israel," (2 Samuel 21:2). Why was David distancing himself from them, causing famine? The Midrash explains that David believed certain sins—idol worship, illicit relations, bloodshed, and uncharitable judges—caused rain to cease. He sought the reason for the famine in the Urim and Thummim, divine instruments of judgement, and discovered it was connected to Saul's treatment of the Gibeonites. The Gibeonites sought retribution for the killing of their people – woodcutters and water drawers.
The story takes a fascinating turn when David asks what he can do to atone. Their demands are specific and even a bit unsettling: they want seven descendants of Saul to be handed over. Through this, the text highlights the importance of justice, even when it's difficult.
The Midrash then praises those who are merciful, bashful, and perform acts of loving-kindness. Shame, it says, prevents sin. Those lacking shame are likened to the uncircumcised, those who didn't stand with the forefathers at Sinai. It also speaks to the importance of converts, highlighting how God ensured that the door to conversion remained open.
The text further explores different categories of people who confess their allegiance to God, quoting Isaiah (45:23). The righteous converts are highlighted, as are those who repent and fear Heaven. The Gibeonites, however, are described as lacking mercy. Despite this, David sought reconciliation with them, emphasizing the importance of seeking justice for all.
The Midrash continues, mentioning how Ezra also reconciled with them and even suggests that God will distance them in the future.
The text shifts again, this time to the presence of the Holy Spirit in three specific instances: in the court of Shem, the court of Samuel, and the court of Solomon. Each is marked by a pronouncement of truth, validating righteous judgements.
Finally, the text touches upon the 613 commandments given to Moses at Sinai, linking them to the days of the solar year and the number of a man's limbs. It emphasizes the importance of integrity, truthfulness, and kindness, concluding with a reminder that God's ways are not always our ways. His attribute of mercy operates on a different plane.
What can we take away from all this? Perhaps it's a reminder that justice and mercy are complex, intertwined concepts. Perhaps it’s a call to act with integrity and compassion, even when it’s difficult. Or maybe it’s a reminder that even in the face of suffering, there is always the possibility of redemption and reconciliation. The Midrash Tehillim doesn’t offer easy answers, but it does offer a rich tapestry of stories and interpretations to guide us on our journey. It invites us to grapple with the big questions, to find meaning in the midst of chaos, and to strive to live a more righteous life.